A Curse Of Glass And Iron (Dark Heralds Book 2)

by Lynn S.

  As the prince finished with his declaration, he was removed from the crypt. In the blink of an eye, Killian was left behind and he was once again Aidan Faraday.

  Brigitte of the Cemetery hardly ever acted motherly, but she couldn’t help it. Even if it meant trying to comfort someone physically superior, the petite loa held the prince.

  “You did good, baby boy. Way too good for that damn mother of yours.”

  Black wings over Lafayette #1 announced Annand’s departure. Bansit appeared as her sister left. The quiet Morrigan just observed, as she usually did. The bloody imprint of her sister’s fingers was still upon Aidan Faraday’s lips.

  Chapter XXIV

  Promise Not to Tell

  The crypt was capable of taking care of several issues at once. Last time the dweller and the dhampyr saw Brigitte, she had been bidding farewell. Leaving them to their own counsel.

  She didn’t mind their business, but her activities had a way to distract them both. More than once, Garan and Marissa’s conversation was interrupted as the ground growled beneath their feet. The crypt expanded, making habitation for both Light and Shadows, as representatives of both factions answered to a summons meant to keep their interest well-guarded. Whenever these two principles coincided, there was always the promise of violence. Brigitte made it so that they didn’t need to cross one another.

  Still, the dweller inside Garan had to fight the urge to break through. He let himself sink in the back of Nolton’s mind. Marissa noticed, as the violinist’s gaze grew warmer.

  “You must promise not to tell.”

  Marissa nodded. She was still fascinated with the ease of the possession. There was something comforting about how one entity could switch with another within the same body. The length of their conversation had made her regard them both at their worth. Still, there was a slight consolation in knowing it was Garan guiding her through the darkness of those hallways. The dweller had an edge of threat that reminded her of her ill luck with supernaturals; the musician was just protective. It was a welcomed feeling, even if she had started to consider not allowing anyone, ever, to take lead in her life.

  She thought she saw something, or someone, as they left the room, but Garan reminded her it was better not to check.

  Had she looked back, she would have seen a teenage boy with huge, unblinking dark eyes, half covered by hair.

  Wedo followed their steps across the gloomy hallways. The loa adjusted his hoodie as he walked out, and a feather slipped out of his front pocket and twirled a couple of times before settling on the dusty floor.

  “Here you are. Better keep you sssafe.” He disappeared with a slither and a whisper.

  “That was not a ghost. It didn’t have the transparency of a spirit. What was it?” Marissa wanted to know.

  Garan knew that if Wedo wanted to introduce himself, he would have. Therefore, the vampire kept quiet. Eventually, she’d get to see him. Everyone met the loa who was a brother to death.

  “There are other things, better things, to take care of. This room to your right, for example. Marissa, there are things that are meant to happen if we are to succeed. You understand that? I know you’d rather not touch but, if only…” He extended his hand and she took it, perhaps imagining whatever was behind that door would leave her in need of a friend.

  ***

  The mirror had been brought from the St. Peter apartment. It made its way to the ever-expanding crypt in Lafayette #1 under the cover of night. Set against those bare, gray walls, it looked dwarfed in comparison. Both Garan and Marissa stood before the rippling surface. Their faces distorted in the space of a heartbeat, like it usually happened with carnival glass. However, there was nothing cheerful about it. The mirror taunted, showing each a piece of their true selves. Neither of them wanted to stare for too long.

  “I promised you Adriana.” Garan was solemn, pained with the knowledge of things to come. “And here she is.”

  Nolton stood in front of the frame, allowing for the dweller to come forth and tempt the mirror folk into giving them a glimpse of the world kept at bay by a pane of glass. He pronounced some words that were met with the echo of an answer. As they waited, he moved aside and allowed Marissa to come forward.

  The surface was, at first, a pit of darkness. Eventually, shades of red seeped through, dancing at their own pace, unwinding like coils, to give way to a forest built on a thousand dashes of crimson. In there, stood her mother, accompanied by a man with bronzed skin and soulful green eyes. He must have been a wraith, a shadow barely sustained by will. It was hard to make out his features, but Marissa knew them enough to fill in the blanks. She had seen him enough, in that one picture where her mother looked truly happy, lounging back on the stairs of a library on 42nd Street. Bastian smiled, but both the smile and the unexpected “thank you” were directed, not at Marissa, but at the man who escorted her.

  “This is the end of the line, my love.” Bastian gave Adriana the sweetest of kisses, barely a brush against her lips. Then, turning toward Marissa, he placed his open hand against his side of the mirror, waiting for her hand to meet his. “You have no idea how I longed to see you, linda menina. My beautiful girl. It’s the only grudge I ever held against life, and now we are even. It is settled.”

  There was a sheen to his eyes, a tear on the verge of falling, bus Bastian knew better. He concentrated on the woman before him, seeing how much there was in Marissa that reminded him of Adriana, how much of himself, and wondered, most of all, if she had really come on her own. If she was really of sound body and mind. His lips twisted in a dry grin. Having met his daughter for just a minute, he realized a father’s worry was ceaseless.

  Marissa placed her hand against his, her eyes never letting go of the man behind the glass. She had been ready for Adriana, but even as Garan mentioned her father, Bastian Salgado had never been more than a story hardly ever told, a picture framed, and committed to memory. She was surprised to feel the warmth of skin, even through the glass. She knew herself loved, across time and distance. It was but a brief moment, fleeting enough for joy not to register entirely before turning, once again, to bitterness. Without another word, the specter disappeared, leaving behind only the finest drops of rain, trapped within the glass.

  Mother and daughter screamed at once on both sides of the mirror, but her claims were not heard. In that moment of loss, they needed one another more than ever, and all they found was an unconquerable space between them. Marissa looked like a woman possessed, as if she had absorbed her mother’s pain and frustration, adding it to her own.

  She turned toward Garan. Her soft gray eyes were clouded and bloodshot, perhaps the effect of being too close to vampires she had been bonded with. Her dhampyr was manifesting in a most aggressive form; it took all her will not to attack him.

  “Why?” she demanded of the vampire. “I can take Brigitte’s hate if I must, but why make Adriana suffer so? Why take away the only thing keeping her human in that red hell of yours?”

  Garan was considerate with his answer.

  “This has nothing to do with the Lady. It’s a claim of the Light, darlin’. Bastian knew this would happen once you were safe. We are monsters, your mother and I. We made our choices. Your father died untainted and there is only so much the Light can take when exposed to Shadows. Each day he stayed behind the glass, his soul grew weaker, his will a little less resolved. There are creatures behind that glass able to haunt your dreams, promising wonders…he left because, had he stayed, then maybe he wouldn’t be himself anymore. If he were to fall, if he were to give even an inch, a part of your soul would have been tainted too. You know how it goes…that saying about sins visiting future generations. It’s a little too literal for us. Bastian was…”

  He stopped before saying the weakest link. After all, Bastian Salgado was conjured out of a place of peace to go through an uncertain hell, and he didn’t hesitate for a minute. For endless nights, he had been offered the chance to return to the mortal plane, with
a dweller in tow, but he declined, in order to not become a lethal and unpredictable inconvenience.

  Garan knew things about his own dweller no one knew. The entity that found a space within him had lived for centuries on end, careless about how many lives had been sacrificed to harbor his existence. That was enough to make him think his words through. That, and the unwelcomed prospect of furthering Marissa’s suffering. “Bastian was aware that the connection would soon break. He left the mirror lands to allow extra time for Adriana. The glass folk are growing restless and their patience is growing short. Ask your mother where she is…”

  He distracted her, forcing Marissa to ask questions and forget her own distress, or turn his attention toward his own agony. The mirror was demanding of Garan—the more he stood in front of that surface, opening a channel for Marissa, the weaker he’d be rendered. It was not good, considering he’d soon be facing a formidable enemy.

  “Where have you been all this time?” Marissa bit the inside of her cheek. Tears and less important questions had to wait. Adriana had also rid herself of feelings other than determination.

  “I’m at Innisfree, Mariushka. In the attic of the house on the hill. Francis Alexander didn’t do away with me for fear it might trigger your transition into a full vampyr. Immortality of that kind would have spoiled his plans.”

  The surface of the mirror started to fog, and for a heartbeat, Marissa feared her mother might disappear into thin air, just like her father did. “I’m sorry,” Garan said. “I can’t keep the connection open anymore, but she is safe, I assure you. I suspected she was not anywhere in New Orleans. Francis would have had to take care of transporting a body during your journey, and that is something not easily done when on the run. Now listen to me, Marissa, we don’t have a lot of time left.” Garan produced a velvet pouch he had been keeping in his pocket, and placed it in her hands. “This is a ward, among other things. It’s made of silver.”

  Marissa opened the pouch to discover it contained a thin yet elegant chain that held a cameo resting upon an intricate filigree design. It was a piece of jewelry meant to carry mementos of loved ones. Marissa looked at Garan with suspicion. The last time a man gave her a piece of jewelry, she ended up a slave to the trinket.

  “Trust above all, remember? Wear it. The amulet must recognize you. In your dhampyr state, with the transition completed, direct contact with silver should not hurt you as it would your mother or me. That silver charm will contain your mother’s spirit.”

  “Will it affect her?” Marissa asked, clarifying.

  “Not at all. It doesn’t have to touch her body. You are her dhampyr, her keeper. Once you get back to New York, and you will, all you have to do is open that little charm and her spirit will rush back in. She’ll be whole again.”

  He opened his hands, indicating Marissa should as well. He asked her to come closer to the glass, her palm opened to catch what he was about to give her.

  The vampire’s nails grew at will, becoming longer, harder, and sharp as daggers. Garan scratched at the frame, drawing small shavings of iron, and then push his thumb against the glass. His vampire strength was measured, using just enough to crack the surface without breaking the glass. It allowed for a paltry ray of light to escape the mirror, before the heat of a living spirit sealed the glass again. Adriana had moved from glass to iron. Marissa had her mother’s life in her hand. She carefully arranged the shavings within the charm and sealed it.

  “I don’t understand, Garan. According to Brigitte, you are the only one who can bring my mother back.”

  “Brigitte, Brigitte…” The vampire sighed. “There are times I won’t dare cross her, and then there are other times that I’d rather gamble against what she knows.” His eyes were so blue, Marissa wondered if Garan had wanted to say something else but the dweller surfaced for a second to allow himself to be smug about it.

  She was about to ask him when an energy became perceptible in the room, affecting them both in different ways. Marissa was taken by a sensation that was not unwelcomed, but far from familiar. Garan simply closed his eyes. Marissa feared his intentions were to materialize something from the ether. That was how deep in thought he seemed to be.

  “Don’t worry, mon cheri. It’s nothing, really. Time stops, then rushes in places like these. What you just felt is the stroke of midnight. But there’s more than one rolling into the cemetery with the witching hour. Let’s find out who’s come knocking.”

  Chapter XXV

  Midnight

  The crypt was not only the abode of Brigitte of the Cemetery, it was the center of a crossroads. There were terrible rooms behind each door, but none more impressive than the Lady’s. Brigitte was thirsty for more than blood that night. She wanted justice and someone to pay for every misstep committed in the city under her care. The whole of the cemetery could feel it, and as a temporary barrier erected around Lafayette #1, not a soul whispered or questioned.

  Brigitte’s face had turned severe. Gone were the youthful, welcoming smiles. Her eyes were covered by dark, round glasses that hid the color of her eyes, rendering it impossible to guess at her intentions. The mourning clothes, those summoned to her skin after Benny’s death, covered her from head to toe once more. She traveled from the realm of the dead into that of the living at the edge of midnight. The chimes of St. Louis Cathedral marked her steps from a distance.

  Wedo waited for her at the edge of the world. He knew well there were places life couldn’t hold on to. The loa of life was shy and rather kept his own counsel. That night, however, something beyond him had closed the cemetery. That lot of sacred land had become a Circle, where all could come in, but only victors walked away. Aval had staked a claim upon that soil, to settle a debt in blood, and somehow the powers that be allowed it. Wedo believed his place to be by Brigitte, if only to keep her appeased.

  The life oracle chose to show his true self. Coiling, cold and sluggish, around his sister’s shoulders.

  Brigitte and the snake took their position at the top of the mausoleum. From their vantage point they could see the whole of the cemetery. At their feet, standing on the steps below, were Bansit and Killian. The Morrigan was dressed in red, which was uncommon for the sisters. The scarlet attire was known in the Spheres as the mantle, and it turned the will of one Morrigan into the will of all. Bansit was to speak for both Annand and Mikka.

  Killian decided to keep being Aidan Faraday. In his human form, he still showed several bruises inflicted by Francis Alexander. A fairy’s main fault was pride, their greatest satisfaction was revenge. Even if it hurt a little to declare himself fragile, for Killian to appear as a human would humiliate Francis more so than the prince. It was a way of saying the Court couldn’t care less about his fate. That if he were to lose, Francis Alexander wouldn’t even be welcomed in Aval to meet his sentence.

  Francis showed up at the time and place as accorded. The protection around Lafayette #1 opened for him, allowing the Sidhe to place his feet upon that sacred ground. Once he did, the Circle closed upon them, to open just after blood fed the thirsty ground.

  Garan looked more than ready. Vampires didn’t require breath, but the need to see this night through led him to mimic an automatic response that made him look alarmingly human. Brigitte chuckled, making a mental note about adrenaline working backward among the undead. Garan felt her gaze fixed upon him and merely acknowledged her with a smile disfigured by rows of sharpened teeth. Gorging on blood not only restored him physically, but tempted the dweller, promising more.

  The lady stood to speak, but the serpent whispered close to her ear. “Truth, sssister. If sssomeone will deceive, let it be the Fae. You can always count on a fairy’s lie. An oracle’s deception, though, might bring dire consequences.”

  Brigitte may or may not have heard her brother, but still she said to all, “Garan Nolton is my champion tonight. He will see that blood is drawn for what Francis Alexander owes me. There was a life that you shouldn’t have wasted. As for other offen
ses…if I’m granted the justice I claim, perhaps the Court won’t have to dirty their hands with you. You have been warned, Sidhe, that Meav no longer protects you and the Dark Heralds that once swore fealty to you have now turned their back and aligned with their new king. The Morrigan are here, three in one, to see this to the end. If you don’t capitulate right now, then I must concede you choose a weapon.” The Lady had grievances against the rules, but she complied.

  Alexander observed those present. His eyes were fiery green, no longer required to hide behind Esteban O’Reilly’s hazel. Biting his lower lip, he made a spectacle of fighting off a smirk before he said, “I choose her.” He raised his hand and pointed at Marissa, before turning his attention to Brigitte. “I’m sorry, my Lady, but I wouldn’t accept a weapon bestowed by you even if it guaranteed to save my life. They might have a hundred words for you, from loa, to goddess, to oracle, but I know a trickster when I see one. In all fairness, I don’t plan to use Marissa. I just want to keep her close. If I’m to win, I’ll simply take her, because she is already within the Circle. Otherwise, either you…or your witnesses might come up with yet another contest.”

  The Sidhe gave those gathered his best curtsy. It almost disguised his contempt.

  Garan laughed deeply and moved his head in a quick negative. The Sidhe’s request struck him as something curiously funny. He heard Marissa’s rushed steps, running toward Brigitte. Seeing Francis Alexander once more triggered all her fears and insecurities. Nolton didn’t even bother to see how far she had gotten. His voice carried the echo of another as he compelled, “Come back here!”

  In the last few months, Marissa had suffered through loss, heartbreak, and trauma, both physical and psychological, but nothing tore through her as deeply as Garan’s command. Nolton violated any notion of trust that might have been blooming between them. Her body acted upon her sublimated instinct, responding blindly, as all dhampyrs did for their vampyr masters. She tried to scream, but her protest drowned. The dweller forced her into the Circle, leaving the witnesses in awe of what just happened.